


Backflips and Idiocy

by JLMonroe1234



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Teen Titans (Comics), Teen Titans - All Media Types, Titans (Comics), Titans (TV 2018)
Genre: Bruce Wayne is Batman, Circus Performer Dick Grayson, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, Dick Grayson Whump, Dick Grayson backstory, Familial Fluff, Hidden Injuries, Hurt Dick Grayson, Jason Todd Has Issues, POV Jason Todd, Some trapeze training because I’m a sucker for Dick in the circus, Teen Titans as Family, Titans Tower
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-14
Updated: 2019-12-14
Packaged: 2021-02-26 17:47:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21792457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JLMonroe1234/pseuds/JLMonroe1234
Summary: Dick’s not feeling well. Jason knows it. He’s definitely trying to hide something.The stupid son of a bitch.
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson & Everyone, Dick Grayson & Garfield Logan, Dick Grayson & Garfield Logan & Raven & Jason Todd, Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Dick Grayson & Raven, Dick Grayson & Teen Titans
Comments: 25
Kudos: 802





	Backflips and Idiocy

**Author's Note:**

> To those of you reading this who also read any of my WIPs, I’m so sorry. I started drafting new chapters for those and then I switched to this and didn’t switch back. Now that this is up I might actually start making progress on my other stories! Yay!

Dick Grayson was moving slow.

A concerning thing to notice, because Dick Grayson lives life on the fast track. He _always_ finished washing dishes in under two minutes, no matter how many plates Gar had dirtied up with Pizza Roll grease that day. His showers are always less than five minutes long, but he steps out smelling like Gucci and looking like a Nautica model _every damn time,_ hair artfully messy and giving off a serious “I‘m expensive” vibe. (No matter how much Dick wants to separate himself from Bruce Wayne, Jason notices little bits of the high-class life in which Dick grew up leaking through into his daily habits. The man sleeps on silk pillowcases and refuses to buy off-brand cereal. He’s prim and pampered for _sure.)_

Dick definitely didn’t smell bad, but he _looked_ like death incarnate. The way he leaned on the kitchen counter while the Keurig slowly filled his coffee cup, knuckles gripping the edge like a lifeline, was absolutely pitiful. 

“You okay, man?” Dick didn’t respond, just continued staring at the countertop. Jason whistled and snapped his fingers in front of his nose. 

On any normal day, Jason would be pinned to the floor before his hand got anywhere near Dick’s face. Something must have been really off today, though, because Dick startled like a child and jumped away from the counter. Jason couldn’t help but notice how he winced as he moved. 

“Dick. Earth to Circus Boy. You alright?” 

Dick wiped his hand across the back of his forehead and pulled his coffee mug out from under the Keurig’s spout. Some of the dark liquid within sloshed onto the counter. Dick either didn’t notice or didn’t care. “Fantastic, thanks. You seen Rachel? Gar? We’ve gotta train later.” 

Jason threw his hands in the air, a move that would have gotten him a stern talking-to from Alfred if he were back at Wayne Manor. _Master Todd, only toddlers wave their arms around in fits of anger. You are much more mature than that. At least give me an eye roll. Maybe go slam a door or two._

“ _Seriously?_ Training? After yesterday? We were awesome! We kicked ass! Don’t you think we deserve a break?” 

“Sure, you deserve a break. You’ll get that break when idiots and psychos stop terrorizing the streets.” 

“Dick, c’mon-“ 

“You guys did great yesterday. Handled the bank robbery like professionals. It was a huge success. But if you want future missions to turn out that way, you’ve gotta keep training. There’s always room for improvement.” 

“Can’t improvement wait, like, a day or two? Just long enough to sit down and watch some TV, maybe sleep in ‘til noon for once?” 

“No, it can’t. Continuity is important. I’ll see you at three in the training room. Tell the others.” And with that, Dick very slowly and stiffly made his way out of the kitchen. 

Jason groaned as loudly as possible so Dick would hear him from down the hall. If he was going to make Jason train on what should have been his day off, Jason was going to make himself as annoying as possible. He slammed his finger on the intercom button embedded in the wall. The red light next to the “projecting” label lit up as he said, “Training at three. Dick said so.” Only a few seconds later, the click of of other intercoms responding to his message sounded and both Rachel and Gar were complaining. 

_“Seriously? I’m exhausted!”_

_“I have, like, four levels left until I’m at the final boss! Can’t we wait until tomorrow?”_

The speaker crackled and popped. A new voice came over the line. “No, we can’t. I’ll see you all in the training room at three. Stop complaining.” 

Jason has forgotten that there was an intercom speaker in Dick’s room, too. Whoops. 

* * *

Three o’clock rolled around and Jason leisurely made his way to the training room, walking just slow enough to insure that he’d arrive a couple minutes late; just late enough to piss Dick off. _Somebody_ had to pull that guy off his high horse every once in a while. He wanted the team to be trained? Fine. But he didn’t need to be so goddamn stiff about it all of the time. 

“I have arrived,” Jason announced as he walked into the training gym, grabbing a bo staff off of a rack near the door. “Class is in session.” He twirled the bo staff above his head as dramatically as possible and launched it like a javelin toward the middle of the room. Specifically, right toward the general area in which Dick, Rachel, and Gar were all standing. 

Dick’s arm shot out and caught the staff just before it whacked Rachel in the forehead. He brought it down to the floor and partially leaned his weight against it, but the position looked more like a physically exhausted person seeking relief than a badass ex-Robin trying to impress his trainees. 

Rachel crossed her arms. “Not cool, Jason.” 

“Hey man, I was just trying to get a head start on training.” 

Dick scoffed. “It’s hard to get a head start when you’re late every day. All three of you, twenty laps around the gym. Then back to the sparring mat. Go.” 

Gar was the first one to start running. For a guy that could literally morph into a tiger at will, he was an absolute joke when it came to standing up for himself. Rachel went second and Jason brought up the rear. It was easy to tell that Rachel and Gar didn’t have the training experience Jason did; while his strides were solid and his breaths were even, Rachel and Gar were stumbling and panting by the tenth lap. God bless Bruce Wayne for stressing the importance of cardiovascular health in crime fighting. 

Because of the relatively easy nature of the task at hand, Jason had the opportunity to keep an eye on Dick while he ran. If Jason was being real with himself, Dick looked awful. He had his hands on the bo staff, cheek rested against them like he could fall asleep right there, standing up in the middle of the sparring mat. His eyes weren’t quite as open as usual. And if the fluorescent lights weren’t playing tricks on him, Jason could have sworn he saw sweat gleaming against Dick’s forehead just in front of his hairline. Dick Grayson could clobber half a dozen men in a minute and not break a sweat. Why was he visibly perspiring while standing perfectly still? 

By the time everyone had finished their laps and returned to the mat, Dick was sitting criss-cross -applesauce on the floor. “Remind me to make you guys run more often. That took way too long.” 

“Not all of us were trained by Batman,” Gar said breathlessly. His eyes met Jason’s. Jason blew him a kiss. Gar flipped him the bird. 

“You guys have improved a lot since we came to the tower. Good job. We’re on the right track. I’ll let you choose what we go over today.” 

Rachel’s face lit up. “Really? Like, anything?” 

Dick nodded. His eyes were totally shut. Neither Gar nor Rachel seemed to think anything of it, but Jason didn’t miss the bead of sweat that made its way from Dick’s temple to the edge of his chin. “As long as it’s physically challenging and you’re stepping out of your comfort zone.” 

“I want you to train us on the trapeze.” 

Dick’s eyes were definitely open now, wide and aimed toward Rachel like she’d gone insane. Gar just looked confused. “The trapeze? Why?” 

“He used to be a trapeze artist. In Haly’s circus.” Rachel was kneeling in front of Dick now. “It would be so cool! You could bust out some old moves-“ 

“Something else,” Dick said, “Anything else.” His voice was steady, but Jason was good at reading people. He sensed Dick’s unease, the tension in his shoulders. This was a touchy subject. 

Bruce had told Jason stories about Dick, about his successes (and failures) as Robin. How his skill set came to surpass what Bruce thought anyone Dick’s age could have accomplished in such a short amount of time. How Dick’s previous experience in the circus meant he was already agile and coordinated, a weapon that just needed fine tuning. Jason also remembered what he’d found when he did his own research; a big, bold-faced headline that read **_Haly’s Circus going out of business after deadly trapeze accident._ ** The article wasn’t very long- maybe a few columns, tops. It was a short and not-so-sweet tidbit about the tragic event itself, that the trapeze ropes had been defective and ultimately snapped, sending two circus employees to their untimely demise. The last line of the article is what stuck with Jason, though. _Mary Loyd Grayson and John Grayson leave behind fellow acrobat and teenage son, Richard Grayson._

The ecstatic look on Gar’s face didn’t match the sense of dread twisting itself into knots in Jason’s stomach. “Dude, you were _in a circus?_ That’s awesome! You _gotta_ show us some moves.” 

Jason tried his best to warn Gar without speaking. To shake his head minutely enough that Dick wouldn’t pick up on it. “Sounds lame. Let’s not.” 

Dick sighed and stood from the floor, grunting as he ascended. “No, it’s okay. I don’t mind. It’s been too long, anyways.” He slowly (slowly for Dick, anyways) made his way to a ladder against the wall and began climbing toward an elevated platform near the ceiling. “This place isn’t that big. Ceilings are high enough, but not a lot of swing room. Our options are limited. I guess we’ll just mess around with the basics.” 

Jason was absolutely sure Bruce hadn’t had a trapeze set-up installed in Titans Tower, but Dick made-do with a wood and rope training latter. He kept the top rung, slicing off the ones beneath it and throwing them off the platform into an unused corner of the gym. “Rachel, do me a favor and drag those crash mats into the middle of the floor. All four of them. I have a feeling we’re gonna have some accidents.” 

Gar put a finger in the air. “Yeah, um, about that. _What?”_

Dick offered a tight-lipped smile. “Who’s first?” 

Rachel was first on the platform. She was wringing her hands like she was terrified, but the smile on her face gave away the fact that she was more excited than anything. 

“Take off your boots,” Dick said, wrapping his hands around his makeshift trapeze bar and leaning against it to test its strength. 

Rachel frowned and looked down at her boots. They weren’t her typical heavily buckled and thick-soled pair; these ones were dark and leathery but much more versatile. Made for combat. Or hiking. But maybe not for flying through the air. “I like my boots” 

“You won’t like them when I try to grab you by the ankles, they slide off, and you fall to the floor. I’d also really like to _not_ get kicked in the face by those. So they come off, or you don’t swing.” 

“Ugh. Fine.” 

Jason had been so focused on Dick and Rachel that he didn’t notice Gar scaling the ladder to the platform on the other side of the room. Rachel was too busy sliding her boots off to see him either, apparently, because once he stumbled his way onto the platform and directly into her shoulder, Rachel didn’t have time to stop herself from falling directly into Dick. 

Who was standing on the edge of the platform. 

Who was also moving slower than usual, _much slower,_ because he didn’t even react in time to catch himself and tilt back toward the platform. 

Jason felt like he was watching Dick in slow motion. He saw the quick widening of his eyes, the way they flitted from the platform to the trapeze bar to the floor below. Reach for the bar at an inopportune angle, or take an unanticipated fall? Sure, the crash mats were positioned within range and severe injury wasn’t probable, but a fall from the platform’s height was enough to make anyone’s subconscious immediately choose _fight_ over _flight._

Dick managed to use the momentum of Rachel’s shove to fling himself toward the trapeze bar just before he went head-first toward the floor. Grayson’s instincts are borderline magical; Jason knew he’d end up saving himself. What surprised Jason was that he’d caught himself with his _foot._ The back of Dick’s left calf rested against the trapeze’s wood bar, the rope strategically wrapped around his ankle and under the sole of his foot to keep him in place. A quick, last resort sort of move only an experienced acrobat would try and successfully execute. 

“That,” Dick said breathlessly, “is why we take our shoes off _before_ we’re on the platform.” 

Rachel looked like she was about to break down in tears. “Oh my god, Dick! I’m _so_ sorry, oh my god-“ 

Gar stepped forward and abruptly jumped backward when he realized he was approaching the edge of the platform. Jason noticed that he was deliberately not looking at the floor. “No man, that’s on me, that’s totally my bad. I’m so sorry, Dick, are you okay?” 

“I’m not in a rubbery heap on the floor. I’m fine, guys. But use this as a lesson, yeah? Pay attention to your surroundings.” Dick’s eyes were trained on his own tangled foot as he slowly swung back and forth through the air. “I’ll do the same.” 

Dick’s shirt, though still partially tucked into his pants, had begun riding up a bit as he hung upside down. There wasn’t much visible skin beneath his light grey tee, just a small stretch of tan midriff. 

And a huge, heavily taped stack of medical gauze just above his hip bone. 

“Damn, Dick, how’d you manage that one? 

Both Rachel and Gar were staring now. Dick only looked confused for a moment before realizing what they were gaping at. He quickly curled up and grabbed the ropes above him, untangling his foot and pulling himself into a sitting position on the bar. He looked like a child on a swing set. It would have been enough to make Jason laugh if the motion hadn’t made Dick bleed through his gauze and onto his t-shirt. 

Rachel was biting her nails. Just another bad habit alongside her inability to go to bed early and that little issue she has with unintentionally unleashing her inner demonic power. “Maybe you should come down. That looks bad. Let us help you.” 

Dick mumbled a word that sounded suspiciously like _fuck_ when he saw the dark red stain on his side. “It’s only a scrape. It’s okay.” 

“That doesn’t look okay,” Gar said. “And neither do you.” 

Gar was right; Dick was hiding it relatively well earlier (if sweating and looking exhausted was _hiding it),_ but now whatever pain he’d been through was making an appearance. If he had a wound on his torso he likely ripped it open when he caught himself on the trapeze. “Really. It’s nothing.” 

Jason rolled his eyes and stepped forward so he was standing just below where Dick was hanging. A few very distinct red, liquidy drops contrasted against the light blue of the crash mat. “Stop being a stubborn asshole. You’re bleeding onto the mat. Just come down.” 

Just as Dick swung back toward Rachel and she stretched her arm out to meet him, he gracefully slid backward and dropped from sitting on his ass on the bar to hanging from it by the backs of his knees, legs bent to hold him in place. 

Jason took another step forward as Dick pushed his torso forward and backward a few times, gaining momentum. “Seriously? Do you have to make everything so complicated?” 

On that note, Dick swing himself under the bar, uncurled his legs, then came out of a backwards somersault to land perfectly on his feet. 

Rachel was in the middle of climbing down the ladder when she stopped on a rung to watch him stick his landing. “If I wasn’t so mad at you for keeping things from us, I would have been really impressed by that.” 

Gar had taken several ladder rungs at a time and was already on the floor with Jason. That meant that when Dick’s eyes slid shut and he fell down to one knee, both him and Jason rushed forward to help. 

The way Dick looked right now, so sweaty, so pale, so _fragile;_ It was startling. Jason hadn’t known Dick for long, but from what he’d seen on his own and from what Bruce had told him, Richard Grayson was a force to be reckoned with. He was raised by grief, fought through it with physical violence. He was hardened against any and every type of pain. But here he was, looking like he might lose consciousness right in the middle of the training room. 

There was a wry smile on Dick’s face, but his eyes still weren’t open. “Maybe you could help me to the infirmary?” 

Despite Gar helping Jason carry Dick down the hall, the trek to the medical room seemed ridiculously long. Not because Dick was a particularly heavy guy, but because he was quickly losing consciousness and kept slipping out of their grasp. 

“S’rry,” he’d mumble every time they almost dropped him. “Tha’s my bad.” He even managed an apology when Gar and Jason not-so-gracefully slid him onto the bed in the infirmary and just about smacked his head on the handrail. Jason thought it was a bit pathetic, how nice he was being. Healthy, not-injured Dick isn’t that nice. 

Rachel busied herself with rolling up Dick’s shirt and pulling off his dirty gauze. Jason went to the sink to wash his hands, and to his surprise, Gar copied his movements. 

Gar shrugged at Jason’s raised eyebrow. “I lived with a doctor. Helped him out sometimes. I know some first aid.” 

Bruce had taught Jason his fair share of medical care, enough to keep himself alive if he were ever in a situation when help couldn’t come right away. He’d never had to use those skills on anyone else until today. He _definitely_ hadn’t had to use them on someone he cared about so much. His hands were shaking. Gar’s assistance would probably be valuable. “Fine. Just don’t fuck anything up.” 

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” 

Gar rolled a small cart of supplies over to Dick’s left side. “Rach, could you step back a bit?” 

“It looks bad, Gar. I think he tore it open more when he fell-“ 

“Yeah, I know.”

“He’s bleeding _a lot-“_

“No shit,” Jason interjected. “Just let us help him.” 

“Jesus, Jason, are you _always_ this much of an asshole?” 

“Only when whiny bitches won’t shut the fuck up-“ 

“ _Guys!”_ Jason had definitely not expected the growl that tore from Gar’s throat. If it hadn’t shocked him as much as it did, Jason would have thought it was badass. “We’re all upset! We’re all worried! Fine! But Dick is over here bleeding out and we’ve gotta do something about! So get your heads out of your asses and let’s go!” 

Rachel didn’t look particularly happy, but she took a step back. “Fix him.” 

Jason and Gar both stepped forward and leaned over Dick. Gar shined a small light beneath his eyes. “How we doin’, Dicky?” 

Dick’s lips smacked together a few times before he could respond. “Shot.” 

Gar pulled back for a moment. “Excuse me?” 

“G-got shot yesterday. During the bank robbery. Went through the suit somehow.” He took a deep breath. “Didn’t go all the way in. Just a flesh wound. I t-thought I got the bullet out. It must’ve splintered when it went through my armor.” 

Rachel bit back a sob. “You got _shot_ and didn’t tell anyone?” 

Dick did a weird little wriggle that was apparently supposed to be shrug, and then cringed at the way the movement pulled at his side. “It’s happened b-before. I thought I’d be f-fine.” 

Gar tugged at the wound with a pair of forceps and Dick squeezed his eyes shut. “I can see a fragment or two. They must have shifted forward when you fell. I think I can get them. Jason, would you mind shining your phone light over here?” 

Rachel was pacing in her socked feet. Jason noted how weird it was to see her moving and not hear the heavy slapping of her boots against the floor. Rachel was the sort of person that got noticed wherever she went, no matter what she did. Whether it was the purple hair, or the boots, or the red rock lodged in her forehead, she was always making a statement. Jason could admire a good statement. He, too, was a fan of making statements. Though, his were of a different nature. 

A stealing-the-Bat-Mobile’s-hubcaps sort of nature. 

Gar sanitized the skin around Dick’s wound and grabbed a clean pair of forceps. There was a large stack of gauze and medical tape sitting nearby on the tool tray. “Jason, do you know how to suture?” 

“I guess I could if I need to. It won’t be pretty but I think it’ll get the job done.” 

Gar nodded. He looked incredibly overwhelmed. Jason actually felt bad for him for a moment. “I’m an idiot. Dick, do you want to be awake for this? Or do you want us to knock you out?” 

Jason hadn’t even considered the fact that pulling bullet fragments out of Dick while he was awake might _hurt._ He just seemed so indestructible. Vulnerability wasn’t in the Grayson vocabulary. 

“Doesn’t really matter. J-just get it over with.” 

“Alright man, your funeral.” 

Rachel looked at Gar like she was about to throttle him. He smiled sheepishly. “Right. Sorry. Bad analogy. Jason, move that light over just a little bit more. I’m gonna go for the first piece. Ready?” 

Dick wrapped his hand around the guardrail on the other side of the bed. “Guess so.” 

“One, two, three.” 

The first piece slid out quickly. Gar dropped it in the emesis basin and moved to pull the other piece. “This one’s deeper. Might hurt worse.” 

Dick didn’t say anything. Just nodded. 

Gar breathed deeply through his nose. “I am _so_ not qualified to be doing this.” 

Gar slid the fragment out of the wound. To Dick’s credit, he didn’t scream, but his eyes shot open and the twitching of his jaw made it evident that he was clenching his teeth together. 

Gar immediately dropped his forceps and shoved the suture kit toward Jason with bloody gloves. “Your turn. I’ll hold the light.” 

* * *

Several minutes and sutures later, Dick’s wound was cleaned, sewn, and bandaged. Just after Jason tied the final knot Dick gave a weak smile, mumbled something along the lines of “Great work, guys,” and immediately fell asleep. He didn’t faint; Jason knew the difference. Dick’s eyelids had slid closed slowly, peacefully. The tension left his muscles in a smooth, fluid motion. 

Rachel took up a place next to his bed in a chair and pulled her knees toward her chest. “He’s such an idiot.” 

Jason huffed a laugh. “ _Colossal_ dumbass.” 

Gar ripped off his gloves. “If he ever makes me do something like that again, I’m moving out.” 

“You think he’ll be okay?” Rachel asked. The lines of Dick’s face were taught and sharp, even in sleep. 

Jason waved a hand lazily: “He’ll be fine with a round of antibiotics and some very, _very_ strong pain meds.”

Rachel didn’t look so sure. “You don’t think we should call any of the others? Let them know what happened?” 

“Or Bruce Wayne?” Gar added. 

Jason’s eyes went wide. “We are _definitely_ not calling Bruce Wayne.” 


End file.
